Silence is a Virtue
by Rose Midnight Moonlight Black
Summary: Damian contemplates his little brother and his feelings for him. This wasn't how he imagines he be or what he'd feel for his father's heir. Warning Incest Brother loves Brother , if only in thoughts.


DISCLAIMER - I. OWN. NOTHING. AT ALL. - I'm just a poor girl trying to conqure the world.

In a world where Terry and Damian co-existed...this could happen. After all according to fandoms the Robins have be having group orgys for years.

**WARNING - Gay Slash** and **INCEST** - you have been warned.

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Silence is a virtue

He didn't hate the kid.

He should, by all reason, hate the kid the most – detest him, loath him, wish him every bad ill and nightmare possible – but he didn't.

In fact, if Damian was to be honest with himself (with the same self awareness he had inherited from his father and the same self awareness he had come to realise was _why_ he hated him) then he actually liked the kid. That in itself was wondrous.

Damian Wayne seem to be natural incline to dislike, dismiss or be in disdain of everything and everyone he meet – partly from being raise to be a selfish snobby brat (which he was aware of) and partly because he was in the habit of comparing everything around to either himself or his father and finding them wanting. In short, he was a cold perfectionist that rivalled Batman's standards. The original, at any rate.

Because Terry was Batman, no matter what the others said. Damian could see that, could admit it even – and that hurt all on its own. He didn't lie when he said that the reason he didn't hang around Gotham was ancient history and he didn't lie when he said he had realise Batman wasn't what his destiny had planned out for him. That, as he had said (perhaps being the only truly honesty thing he _had_ said) was Terry's rightful destiny. Not his. Not the eldest destiny.

He didn't want to _be_ Batman, not anymore...what he wanted, desired, the things that Spellbinder had made him see – no, seeing would have been a hell less destroying, made him _live -_had been connected to Batman but hadn't been what Terry was thinking. Or at least, what Damian though Terry had been thinking about. He hoped. Or not.

Damian wasn't a moral person. Frank, outright admitted morality wasn't something he knew. He had been born without a conscience even if Bruce had made him acquire one over the years. Homosexuality, bestiality, paedophilia, _necrophilia_- he had travelled the world, and in more than one place he had been confronted with more than one taboo, one _exception from the norm_. Unlike some people he didn't judge against it. Yes, if it wasn't consensual he would step in and stop things but if two people were in agreement, aware and – uggg- in love, he didn't see the problem.

However he didn't seek to change or help them. Just as he didn't condemn others, he neither accepted their situations. He didn't care, so there was no empathy in his actions. So Taboo's didn't bother him and – perhaps- if most didn't disgust him, in his 'wild youth' he might have experimented with them.

Oh sweet irony.

For a man who didn't condemn taboos, for a man who held a complete indifference in moral affairs – who sneered at the things others thought should shock him...and the one things that thrown him completely, that quite literally shattered his world, was falling for his baby brother.

Yes, Damian was aware of that. He, who hated his 'older' 'brothers' and 'sisters' who didn't care if they were alive or not, visited his father and fell for the one person in the world he couldn't touch. In a way, falling for Helena might have been easier – after weren't typical incidents of consensual incest normally between brother and sister – and not between brother and brother?

Ha, that made it seem likely – even worst, Terry, _dear darling_ Terry, was completely straight. If Terry was likely to fall for someone, anyone, even a man, then from what Damian knew and had observed he was far from Terry's type. He wasn't the beautiful, strong but-in-need-of-a-saviour, delicate type, nor was Damian in any shape or form a tempting temptress of questionable motives but genuine feelings. Nor was he as shallow, vain and undoubtedly as egocentric as the rest of his brother's teenage loves.

Damian hadn't even realised when the feelings, the urges, the...desires frankly, had started. He hadn't 'been struck be a bolt of lightning at first sight' nor had it been 'an instinctive knowledge'. Damian was hesitant to say he was even in love (if more because Damian didn't want to be in love period, _ever, _than anything else). What he felt wasn't love – which was a pure and untainted thing – but more a...lust.

Yes, Damian didn't like his brother, didn't love him – he wanted him, desired him, craved and was ensnared by him. He _lusted_ after him. Never before had he been so interested in one person, so intensely needy of one person or a self restricted as the way Terry made him. Terry who could bring a reaction with a smile, who could made him smile back with a witty comment or whose quiet passion and determination aroused him more that any wily woman could.

Terry, who was so knowing and yet so undeniable innocent – pure almost. The purest thing he had ever seen and yet still desired to touch.

Terry, who was so passionate and yet so naive to passion in itself. It was so tempting, almost overwhelming, the impulse to take Terry's hand and show him the real depth of passion, far _below_ the platonic one of _justice_.

Terry, who masked his real nature and intentions so seamlessly that even Damian was forced to look closer. Who could understand even the confusing motives of their father.

Terry, whose goodness was hidden behind a thin veil of attitude and humour.

Terry, who was far more than he seemed and yet still so very simple to look at.

Terry, whose fighting style caught his breath. So...loose and undisciplined, as untamed as Terry was and yet as every bit as worth of warrior status Terry had.

Terry, who could learn a move effortlessly after only trying once, whose body moved like a dancer without any reason or rhythm that Damian could tell or see but none the less made him want to join in. Made him want to fight him to see how he was dance with him. How well they fit together.

Terry, who eyes froze and melted him at the same time. Whose eyes he was so familiar with having seen them in every mirror and in every conversation with their father, from ever ylook at Helena's glare and from every misunderstand childish fit of Matthew's. Eyes which Damian found as fascinating and enticing as if he'd never seen them before, as if they were completely virgin – see that scared him by seeing so much and yet absolved him of his sins at the same time. Eyes that made him feel naked and still aroused by them. Yes, Damian loved Terry's eyes as much as they disturbed him.

He still dismissed it as love – an obsession, a fascination, a desire – but it's not love. Love doesn't make people sick to the stomach at the thought of their_ love_. Love doesn't make people revolted in themselves or make they reconsider every cruel things ever hurled at them. Love doesn't make people flinch away from their beloved's touch in fear- fear of discovery, fear of _enjoying_ it- or hover between running away from their lives and the addictive needed to be near them, drawing people in closer.

Love shouldn't make people love someone so much that they are crashed under the weight of denying what they are feeling. Shouldn't make people wake up in the middle of the night from _pleasurable_ dreams and want to cry, feel so dirt and unable to wash the thoughts from their heads.

To make them want to scream and cry because it wasn't fair, that everything inside of them told them to stay with their beloved while every rational thought, every trained believe screamed at them to leave before they ruined everything further more.

Love shouldn't bring that soul crushing belief that you are a monster, that you are disgusting and contaminating everything you touch. That you can't even look at the source of you problems because you know it's not their fault – can't look to see that misplaced love, that shining loyalty that would be killed in an instant of weakness.

You're scared to see the look on their faces, you so-called loved ones more like self righteous bastards forcing their way into things that they either belong too or understand. The fear driven determination to understand, and then confused misunderstanding, the dawning horror, and then, at last, the inconceivable disgust coupled with the enlightening realism. All hidden behind a pathetic little lie you meant to, but never do, fall for.

Because you know the _same thing_ screaming profanities in your head, telling you to pull the trigger of the gun, to just end this _laughable façade,_ this_ lie- _is the _same thing_ in _their_ head telling them to let you pull it. It would be better off that way, if you were dead – better for everyone because wasn't that what all the batfamily's been thinking since they first realise you exists? Better for Terry...

No...Damian sighed, dropping his head back into his arms. Even in the dreg of self-pity and resentment, Damian wasn't blind enough to not know that even if the rest of his so called family (who whispered loudly, 'demon spawn' and 'mummy's little serial killer' behind his back and on occasion, to his face) wouldn't care if he blew his brains out, Terry would. Sweet little Terry would most certainly blame himself, would still love Damian enough in spite of his...issue, enough to have wanted to help him. And oh God did Damian not want to think about Terry helping him.

He remembered once saying, to who he couldn't remember, that he didn't surround himself with people because people were useless and he like being alone – they had replying 'but who will catch you when you fall?' to which Damian had offered a witty 'I don't fall, ever.' But they had persisted if he remembered rightfully, determined to gain some understanding to his silent mystery 'If you did?' Damian had been darkly quiet 'then I fall, no one...has ever shown the desire to see me do anything other than fall so what does it matter anyway?'

It was truth...it was truth. Gordon, Drake, Brown – although it was now Drake as well -, Grayson none of them held the faintest of regard for him, in fact if they discovered he'd committed suicide they'd probable throw a party to celebrate and congratulate themselves on being a part of it.

Oh okay, maybe not Gordon or Brown, one being far too serious and righteous to not be scandalous at her involvement in something so 'tragic' and the other who didn't seem to be fazed at all by his years of verbally abusing her but who freaked the minute he touch her personal belongings (but he had returned them...later...) ...That was his despair talking. Damian didn't think he'd ever kill himself (note he didn't include being intoxicated or becoming so reckless that someone else killed him for him) but...he did think about it... lately...

He sighed again. Part of him was glad Jason wasn't here because the man would undoubted rip him mercilessly about this and part of wished he was here because he knew Jason would listen. Jason would sit still as stone and listen as the word burst out, flooding into the room and stealing the space where the air should be. Jason wouldn't judge him but take him seriously before proclaiming him completely screwed. Then hand him a prescribed bottle of whiskey and order him to get smashed.

But Damian wouldn't tell him.

He had told Todd more than he had told any other person, more than anyone ever knew about him or most likely ever would. Terry didn't know him like Todd did. Probably because Todd shared the same grim view on life and death as he did, because he had been as _fucked_ over by everyone and fate as much as Damian had been. But Damian wouldn't tell him this.

He would never tell anyone, take it to his grave if it came to that – premature or otherwise.

Damian knew he could never let anyone, most certainly not Terry, know what a monster he was. Terry could never be given any idea to what Damian felt or wanted, because honestly, if faced with Terry like that Damian doubted his self restraint would hold and he never wanted to hurt Terry. If anyone knew, his father would undoubtedly find out than then Terry would be lost to him forever.

Because if Bruce Wayne didn't murder his son, or lock him away in Arkham for the rest of his life, he would ensure at the least that Terry stayed away from him, if not despised him for it. He could, and would, do that if he had to – to protect his _successor_.

Silence being virtuous in this case – nothing good would come of this truth at all. Like it did any truth. Damian opened a bottle of whiskey to follow Jason silent advice.

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